


My Self Righteous Suicide

by ixxues



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF, Shiphaus
Genre: Fighting, M/M, Overdose, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Switchblades and Gym Class AU, Underage Drinking, sbgc au, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixxues/pseuds/ixxues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after his parents died, Adam finally figures out an out</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Self Righteous Suicide

**Author's Note:**

> oldmachaywood.tumblr.com  
> repost 
> 
> hausofgreene wrote a fic, i wrote a prequel-y sort of thing to that fic. see end notes for link to her's (on tumblr the last sentence of the fic is the link but)

Waking up and wishing he was dead had become the norm for Adam. He was alone in the world. No parents, no siblings, nobody he could really call a friend… Yeah being dead sounded a lot better than the hell he was living in. 

His parents had died almost a year ago and yet the blankets still smelled like them, their clothes hadn’t been touched (except when Adam held them and tried to find comfort but no one needed to know the punk boy held his moms sweater and cried) and the house just overall still felt like them. Like they could walk through the door, tired from work and ready to sit down and eat dinner with their sweet son, any minute now. But they won’t. They never will again. And it kills Adam everyday. 

It kills him more than the excessive drinking and smoking he’s taken up. What can he say, being drunk makes dealing a lot easier. Or at least it makes him less aware of the tears that never seem to stop falling. 

It was almost the anniversary of their death that Adam had had enough. Enough of being alone. Enough of everyone looking at him like he was going to collapse. (and maybe he was going to but he didn’t need the stares) Enough of this hell he’s been put through. 

So he wrote a note. 

“To whoever finds this: 

Fuck everything. I hate my life I can’t do this anymore. I’m alone and I hate it. I hate this house I hate the sympathy I hate that my parents are gone. I can’t do this anymore. No one will miss me it doesn’t matter"

After putting the note on the kitchen table, visible to anyone who walks in, he grabs a full bottle of vodka and takes a swig and stumbled his way upstairs. He manages to make it to the master bathroom (“his parents bathroom”, his brain so helpfully supplies) and open the medicine cabinet. After a bit of rummaging he finds his dad’s prescription pain killers he had had for a back problem. 

He made his way back into his own room, drinking as he went, and sat on the bed. After attempting to pour out some pills (”People in movies always count them right?”) he realized that drinking a fourth of vodka had impaired his fine motor skills. He poured out a handful unceremoniously, popped them all into his mouth and chugged some more vodka. He meant to just sit and wait for a few minutes, let his stomach settle and start digesting, and then take some more but within a few minutes he was passed out. 

18 hours later Adam woke up on the floor of his bathroom in a pool of his own vomit with no knowledge how he got there. 

He quickly realized that he hadn’t taken enough pills (”God you can’t even kill yourself right. You’re such a fuck up”) so after laying in the pool of vomit and self hate for a while he drug himself up and started cleaning up. 

He made his way downstairs, turned on the TV and got more alcohol. The answering machine beeped with a new message. School. Why hasn’t he been there? (”They don’t really care. If they did they would’ve sent someone to check on you. Calling is just in their policy.”) He sat there for who knows how long, just staring at the TV not absorbing anything and nursing a case of room temperature beer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the rational part of him made the comment, “Maybe there’s a reason you’re not dead”. Adam didn’t listen. He didn’t care. He wanted to be dead, he didn’t want any higher up keeping him alive. 

5 days later, a Sunday, he’s run out of alcohol in the house and the same stream of self hating thoughts were getting old. Plus, starving to death seemed a lot more painful and long winded. After eating something that could’ve been counted as food with maybe calories, he went to bed (ignoring the pungent smell of spilled vodka on his sheets) at 6pm and setting his clock for 8am. Might as well hate himself while getting some sort of brain stimulation, right? 

At school it wasn’t much better. Going through the motions and avoiding stares and stupid questions. Acquaintances (”you don’t have friends”) asking where he had been, teachers telling him he needed to make up the work (as if he would). The quiet kid he sat next to in math kept sneaking worried glances at him (”You reek of alcohol he doesn’t want to get in trouble by association he doesn’t care about you”) 

Fourth period. History. A bullshit class, if you asked Adam. He decided a better use of his time would be to go out back and smoke a few cigarettes and advance his chances of getting lung cancer. 

What he found instead was an idea. Bruce Greene was beating up some asshole jock. Adam caught words like “leave him alone” and “he’s not weak” but that wasn’t what was important to him. Greene could help him. The jock managed to get away from Bruce and ran past Adam, effectively blowing his cover. 

“The fuck are you looking at, Kovic?” Greene yelled at him, his anger almost palpable. 

Adam didn’t respond. Just turned on his heel and walked away, smokes forgotten and an gears turning. Adam knew he would never beat Bruce in a fight. Bruce could kill him easily. 

Bruce could kill him. 

Friday came around and Adam had worked out how he was going to piss off Bruce. He made a whole day out of it, poking and prodding at every sore spot he could think of every time he saw Bruce until finally the last bell rang and Bruce grabbed him in the hallway and drug him out back, to the same spot where the jock had received his beating earlier in the week. 

Adam fought back, enough to make it not so obvious that he wanted to die (why show that sort of weakness? he’d just be made fun up), but he was definitely putting more effort into his offense than his defense. 

Once both boys were sufficiently beaten, Bruce walked off. Probably bored of the lack of challenge Kovic presented. But it was a start, as far as Adam was concerned. 

Adam made this a near daily thing. He’d let himself get beat up, go home, and fall asleep without tending to his wounds. However as the fights went on, he noticed something. Bruce wasn’t hitting as hard. That really was going to put a damper on his plans. 

One night he was on his way to the liquor store (thank god for fake IDs) when he ran into something he really wasn’t expecting. Bruce was sitting under a streetlight, unlit cigarette his mouth. And then something clicked. Adam realized why Bruce wasn’t hitting as hard. Why he was throwing fights. Suddenly all the less-than-hateful-more-soft looks Bruce would throw him from across the hallway made sense. 

Always for impulse decisions, Adam sat next to him. They talked, shared a lighter, talked some more and confessed somethings that neither boy had realized until that night. And then Bruce asked the question that Adam didn’t expect but really should have. 

“Why’d you start the fights?” Bruce is looking at him expectantly, looking so open and maybe a little scared and Adam just sighed. 

“Would You Believe Me If I Said I Hope You’d Kill Me?”

**Author's Note:**

> sequel:  
> http://hausofgreene.tumblr.com/post/131638195470/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-bruce-purposely


End file.
